ideas, arranged into various groups, independently of the general name of science, acquire a particular appellation, according to their respective combinations. Within our own breasts exist riot and rage, boisterous passions, which, breaking forth under various forms, give birth to so many virtues and vices, to so many noble and mean actions, and which generate or dissolve human societies; passions which ought to animate the ample page of history, and which the law should restrain by punishment, or by an adequate reward direct to proper objects; passions which policy should use and govern, morality check and dignify; which poets and orators should delight to paint, to awaken, or to sooth. Within our own minds reside those tender emotions, those delicate feelings, which afford the richest colours for the pencil of genius.
If then nature, not with regard to its inanimate qualities, but to its power of operating on the human mind; if the feelings, emotions, and passions, be the originals which the votary of taste mould perpetually keep in view; if fine writing be nothing else than a knowledge of the art of pleasing, a power of feeling and of judging, whence, except from the perceptions and faculties of the human soul, shall we trace the theory of taste and composition?
The first and surest method of acquiring this knowledge is, to look with a scrutinizing eye into our own breast. Here we find predominant inclinations, tumultuous passions, and gentle emotions; we observe hidden sparks of genius, which, though seldom blown into a flame, supply
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